


Dust

by Xenobotanist



Series: Particles [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: ASIT References, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon Cardassia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:27:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24315802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenobotanist/pseuds/Xenobotanist
Summary: An evening ritual between Julian and Elim, set during the recovery of Cardassia
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Series: Particles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1804888
Comments: 5
Kudos: 66





	Dust

Cardassian hair doesn’t tangle. It’s too slick, with microscopic barbs that hold it in place, like bird feathers.

But it can still become caked with oils and detritus under less than ideal conditions. Cardassia is currently experiencing less than ideal conditions, and has been for some time. Will be for the indefinite future. No matter how much or little time one spends outdoors, the dust and sand are omnipresent. And while sand on a primarily-desert planet is not a new thing, it is compounded by the trillions of tons of dust. From cities bombarded by aerial attacks. From homes turned to ash by fire. From citizens and beasts alike, desiccating in the oppressive heat of the sun.

Now, for Cardassians, some amount of dust is preferable. Like Terran birds, it can soak up excess oils and deter mites. But not like this, not in these quantities. Too much dust mattes the hair and builds up, collecting larger debris, larger pests, and ultimately, the germs that follow. On a war-ravaged planet, this cannot be allowed. Minor microbes can cause large-scale plagues, and had in fact done so already.

So, each evening after dinner (at least when both of them are home), Elim sits on the stones behind the shed with Julian behind him, carding through his mane. First with fingers, prying out a spare leaf or stem, then a brush to sift out the finer particles, and finally a comb to arrange and settle every wayward strand back in place.

Elim isn’t sure which part is his favorite. Certainly, he adores the hands-on portion. To sit in the cool night air with his love’s soothing heat at his back, feeling fingertips and nails scratch gently against his scalp…it sends delicious shivers down his arms and spine, raising the finer scales on his arms like gooseflesh on a human. But the brushing is calming as well. The tingle of the bristles sliding though his hair time and again is often the first step of relaxation for the night. He can feel his individual muscles unclench as he breathes in softly, reaching a meditative state. As for the comb…Elim isn’t sure where Julian found it. It’s curved to match the shape of a Cardassian skull, made of fine metals with filigree-etched designs. It must have been an antique heirloom. Julian slowly runs it through his hair with such care and precision it’s almost reverential. A quick peck on the crown signals the end of the ritual.

Sometimes they rise immediately, too many responsibilities waiting for their attention. Other times, too seldom, Julian scoots forward and wraps his arms around Elim’s waist, lying his head on the other man’s back, listening to his heartbeat. Or rests his chin on Elim’s shoulder to watch the moons rise and stars fade in. He rubs his cheek along Elim’s facial ridges just to feel the texture, humming in pleasure.

One time, Elim turned around to look in his lover’s face, and saw such a tender look of longing and devotion that he slipped forward to his knees. He lifted slightly, raising himself between Julian’s legs to enfold the beautiful man in his embrace, and they met like sand and the waves of the sea, dragging and pulling, undeniable and inevitable.

In the back of his mind, Elim knows that some day this will no longer happen. The cities will be rebuilt, the streets cleared, and the dust will finally be washed away in the spring rains, fertilizing the soils of his home. He feels almost guilty that he will miss these evenings. He shouldn’t be enjoying Cardassia’s misery. And he isn’t really. Just this one little slice of life. Julian assures him it’s a perfectly natural feeling. That it’s okay to take pleasure in the small things.

And when they retire, sharing that too-small bed in the corner that neither is willing to give up, because it means being apart…then it’s his turn. He runs his finger along each of Julian’s eyebrows, knocking loose minute particles. He kisses the eyelashes that protect his hazel eyes from the shifting sands. He tickles along the stubble that covers Julian’s chin and cheeks, kissing the tip of his nose just because. Julian turns on his side, backing up to Elim until their lengths are parallel, because—despite being a few centimeters taller—he prefers to be the little spoon. Elim obliges, tucking his knees up behind Julian’s legs, but he doesn’t wrap his arm around his waist just yet. He strokes through Julian’s soft hair, front to back, then bottom to top, letting the strands slide between his fingers. Human hair is soft and supple, and Julian’s smells sweet even when he hasn’t been able to wash it in a few days; the scent wafts out with each caress, and it’s a balm to his battered soul.

The dust is everywhere. It coats the walls, the floors, the tables, the peoples.

But with a compassionate touch, with love and attention, it can be endured. It can be managed. It can be brushed away.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the comments for my plans on expanding this.


End file.
